Wild Goose
by Twinings
Summary: Chase, chase, chase, that's all we ever do. -CAT-
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Despite my best efforts, I still do not own the Riddler. Or the city in which he lives. I should start buying real estate._

_CATfic, www. freewebs. com/ catverse, after Techie's "Masque" and my "Calamity," before my "Rock and a Hard Place."_

* * *

_Wild Goose_

A visit from Batman was trouble. Always. At least, for the Riddler it was.

Having him appear when Eddie was just stepping out of the shower, barefoot and with wet hair, was a bit much, though, even for him.

Eddie backed into the doorknob, winced, and nearly slipped on the wet floor.

"Don't you know how to _knock_?" he bellowed, partly from shock, and partly in hopes of alerting Quiz and Query to the danger.

"Would you have answered?" The voice was pure Threat, deep and menacing, and Eddie refused to panic, knowing that _that_ was exactly what Batman wanted.

"There's only one way to find out." He raised a fist and tapped it on the air well away from Batman's head, where he could be sure it would be perceived as a taunt and not an attack.

Black gloved hands gripped the collar of his shirt and hauled him up off the ground. He still didn't panic, although this would have been rather a nice time for it. He struggled to find a position that allowed for easy breathing.

"I don't have time to play games." Eddie grasped his visitor by the wrist and did his best to lift himself up and look the other man in the eyes.

"Exactly how much free time do you think _I_ have?" Batman's facial expression didn't change except for a slight tightening around the mouth. That was enough to warn Eddie to brace himself. Still, when the room swung around underneath him and he found himself slammed against the far wall, he couldn't do anything, couldn't even react. His vision swam as he fought to regain his breath. "Was that—really necessary?"

"Answer my questions," Batman said darkly. Eddie's hands clenched in anger.

"_Ask_ them!" _Don't just leave me hanging, you son of a bitch!_ _Speak!_

"I'm looking for someone." Eddie squirmed, trying to relieve the pressure on his collarbone.

"Was that a _question_?" Batman leaned against him, their faces inches apart.

"Friends of yours."

"Can you be more specific? I'm a popular guy."

"_Ghosts_."

Oh. He wanted the Captain, Al, and Techie. He couldn't mean anyone else.

"Well, Batman, I didn't realize you believed in that kind of thing."

Batman slammed him against the wall again. He lost his grip on the hands at his throat and slipped down, twisting painfully.

"Where are they hiding?"

"Are they—hiding?" It felt like a hollow victory, throwing that small bit of mockery in Batman's face, but a victory nonetheless. He was the Riddler, by God, and he wasn't going down without a fight.

Batman's grip tightened, lifting him even further off the ground and blocking his airway entirely.

"No _games_, Nygma. Where are they?"

Now he struggled, not relishing the thought of blacking out at Batman's mercy. Of course, his pathetic struggles had no effect on that iron grip. He was only human, after all.

"Not—a—clue," he managed.

Batman smiled, a faint quirk of the lips, and Eddie froze, realizing that he had miscalculated—severely.

"Well." The voice was all shadows and doom. "So much for doing this the easy way." The suddenly reassuring weight of the wall left his back, and he tried not to let panic register in his face.

"Don't—be hasty, now…" He clutched Batman's wrists and wished rather desperately that his feet would touch the ground. The bastard held him fast and firm and made sure he could see exactly where he was going.

Well, it was his own fault for taking an apartment with plate glass windows. He should have known better. With Batman around, anyone would have known better. He wondered if the snow had melted. He could probably survive the fall—if the snow hadn't melted.

"I won't ask again."

He hit the glass and felt it crack, but not break.

"Can we say 'please'?"

He had to give it a shot.

There was a brief flash of teeth, more frightening than the Joker's grin. Something had gotten the Batman into quite a state, hadn't it. The glass splintered alarmingly.

"_Can_ 'we'?"

Oh, Batman with a sense of humor was never a good sign. What had he done to deserve this? Nothing—this time, anyway.

"Come on, Bats, what do you—want?" The last word came out a strangled squeak, barely audible.

The glass shattered, and he got an unwelcome taste of fresh air. He closed his eyes—his vision was wavering, anyway, and he did _not_ want to look down.

"You can start talking any time."

Eddie hesitated, clinging to the gauntlets and fighting for breath. The snow was falling on his upturned face, cold, thick, and wet, and he didn't doubt Batman's willingness to let him fall. Carefully, he nodded.

Batman made a dismissive, contemptuous sound, pulled him back in, and tossed him into the far corner. The easiest thing was to collapse where he had fallen and focus on the novelty of air in his lungs.

"Where are they?"

"Home, I'd guess." He pushed himself up, shakily. "People do tend to go home when they're not at work." It seemed the wall just wasn't meant to be his support. He flinched when Batman moved toward him.

"_Where_?" the Dark Knight growled. He swallowed hard.

"Other side of town." Batman wrapped his fist around a handful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"Show me."

"Oh, sure," he said casually. "Let me just get my coat." Batman glared at him. He tried again. "Hat?" He dragged him toward the door. "_Shoes_?" No response. "Bastard."

"Suck it up."

"Big talk from the man in the cape." Batman just grunted.

Passing by his bedroom, he saw Quiz and Query unconscious and tied together on his bed. They were going to be in one hell of a spitting fury when they woke up. He was almost glad he wasn't going to be there.

"I do have neighbors, you know." Batman said nothing. He tried again. "They might find this a little odd, if they see."

"We could go out the window if you prefer."

He shut up.

Down the back stairs they went, unobserved by anyone, as far as he could tell. Batman's hand didn't slip from his collar for a moment. It wasn't as if he'd been trying to escape. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was a man who knew when he was caught. He knew how to pick his moments.

He was, perhaps not surprisingly, fairly interested in avoiding serious injury. Just one of his little peculiarities, but perfectly understandable, he thought.

Batman knew him well enough to exploit that weakness, of course. Not in that crude, brutal way that was all some people could understand—if something wants to argue, hit it 'til it stops. No, Batman was better than that, more subtle and more effective. The threats he offered were so real, he didn't even have to carry them out. It was infuriating.

Even more infuriating was the fact that there was nothing he could do about it.

Eddie tried to hesitate on the steps that led down from his building to the icy sidewalk. Batman shoved him forward. His feet went right out from under him, and he landed on his knees in the snow.

"Up," Batman snapped, and tugged him forward.

"Would it have _killed_ you to let me put some socks on?" He limped over to the Batmobile. "I don't keep explosives in my sock drawer, you know."

"I know," said Batman. "Underwear drawer." Eddie winced.

"Batgirl?"

"Batgirl."

"Well, if you people wouldn't keep sneaking up on me in my bedroom…"

Wordlessly, Batman opened the car door. Eddie got in, grumbling, and stubbornly refused to acknowledge what a relief it was to get his bare feet out of the snow. With the press of a button, a set of clamps emerged from the seat, pinning his wrists to the seat behind him. So, Batman had made a few improvements to his whumpmobile. Well, anyone would get a little paranoid after discovering the perils of giving rides to Harley Quinn. The woman was so easily seduced by brightly colored buttons.

Actually, those buttons and flashing lights _were_ awfully interesting. He couldn't help wondering what some of them did.

He wouldn't ask, of course. He kept his eyes on the windshield as Batman put himself behind the wheel.

The engine started, a deep rumble that was both familiar and unsettling. Eddie barely felt the acceleration as the car started forward.

"So," he said after an uncomfortable silence. "If you lose control of the car, is this thing going to break my arms?"

"Probably."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

Eddie fidgeted against the restraints. They were too tight for him. How would they have held, say, the Penguin or Killer Croc? Then again, Batman wouldn't have risked this with someone as dangerous as Croc. And he never undermined Oswald's power if he could help it. Oh, no. The Penguin was too important to the structure of the underworld.

He glanced over at Batman, who kept driving calmly, eyes on the road, hands at ten and two. The silent treatment was a little uncomfortable when he had been expecting a barrage of questions. He should have been glad of the delay—after all, that was what he was supposed to be going for—but this was, of course, just as nerve-wracking as Batman wanted it to be.

He kicked at the door. Batman's scowl deepened. Eddie hastily tucked both feet under the seat. No way was he risking having his legs pinned in place, too.

He kept his eyes on the buttons as long as he could, sorting them by color. Red buttons, blue buttons, green buttons, yellow buttons, oh, goddammit.

"Are you going to speak up, or not?"

"I'm just waiting for you to tell me where we're going."

"You mean you don't know?" Eddie snapped. "You seemed so sure of yourself."

Batman whipped around a corner about twelve times faster than sanity should have allowed, throwing his passenger hard against the door. Eddie winced. That was going to leave a mark.

"You'll talk when you're ready to talk."

He straightened up as best he could.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Batman hit the gas, throwing Eddie back in the seat with the force of the acceleration.

"Nonsense is not your gimmick, Nygma. Try again."

Eddie fidgeted, eyes on the road. The snow was coming down again in a gentle flurry. How good were the Batmobile's tires? They had to be good, of course, but were they good enough to withstand the treatment of the psychotic Bat?

Well, no more than anything else in the world, he guessed.

"Batman? Have you ever been convicted of a DUI?" The Batmobile whipped around a sharp curve, tires slipping sideways on the frozen surface. "Shouldn't you be obeying the speed limit, Caped Crusader?" He eyed the guardrail warily. "Batman? _Batman_? What can gravity do to a flying rat in a rocket-powered tin can, do you know?"

"Nothing, compared to what it can do to a smart-aleck criminal with no padding and no effective seatbelt."

Point taken. When they went plunging into the river, Batman wouldn't be the one with shattered bones and a fractured spirit.

"Would you mind slowing down just a bit, please, Bruce?" he tried.

Batman hit the brakes. Eddie tried and failed to brace himself, and his face met the dashboard with a crack. That wrenching pain in his wrists wasn't the sensation of snapping bones, but it felt like the next best thing. He straightened up carefully. Ouch. That was a lot of blood pouring out of his nose.

"Too sood to talk aboud thad?" he ventured. Batman just glared. Eddie glanced out the window at the guardrail not an inch away from his door. "They're od the other side of the river."

He tilted his head back as Batman pulled away from the bridge at a much more reasonable speed. So much for his favorite shirt. The blood was never going to come out.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nygma. _Nygma_."

It was with genuine difficulty that he lifted his forehead from the cool window.

"_What_?"

"It's your turn to talk."

"Oh." He had lost track of the nonsensical directions he'd been giving. "Turn left at the next light," he suggested, hoping that would sound about right.

The Batmobile coasted to a stop. Oh, shit.

Then, to his surprise, the clamps released his wrists with a snap.

"Uh—what are you doing?"

Batman produced a handful of wadded-up tissues from nowhere and thrust them into his hand.

"Tilt your head back. You're bleeding all over the seat."

"So? Get your butler to clean it up." In response to the three-quarter-strength Bat-glare, he fell silent and pressed the tissues to his face.

"Good. Now, instead of telling me where you want me to turn, why don't you tell me where we're going, just in case you pass out from the blood loss before we get there."

Eddie slumped in the seat. This just wasn't fair. He should have had time to think this through. And he shouldn't be bleeding. Hadn't he lost enough blood in his lifetime already?

He considered pressing a random button on the off chance that it would turn out to be the emergency ejector seat.

_Great idea, Edward. Turn on the rocket boosters. He doesn't want to hurt you enough as it is._

Of course, with his luck, it would probably turn out to be the windshield wipers. Or the radio.

"Nygma."

Oh. He really was drifting. When this was all over, he was going to have to seriously consider taking a few days off. Preferably in the Bahamas.

"They're on the other side of the river."

"You already said that."

"Oh, did I? That's interesting. I wonder what it could possibly mean." The Batmobile came to a less gentle stop than before. "Gee, Batman, I don't think you're supposed to stop in the middle of a bridge."

"Get out."

"But—"

"_Out_."

He didn't move. Batman flung open his own door and came around to the passenger side. Eddie looked without much hope for a way to lock himself in.

He forced a broad grin as Batman yanked his door open.

"Okay, you win. Good job. You know I can't make it too easy for you. You know that, right?" Batman grabbed him by the collar and left arm, dragged him out of the car, and slammed him against the guardrail.

"If you won't do this the easy way, Nygma, then neither will I."

"Hey, now, that's hardly fair."

"'The other side of the river'?"

Eddie shrugged helplessly.

"Is it my fault you haven't read your _Robin Hood_ lately? There is no side but the other."

Batman let out a breath that fell just short of being an exasperated sigh.

"You're not going to tell me where they are, are you?" Batman graveled.

He could have gone with a riddle. He didn't.

"Not if I can help it."

It wasn't easy to read Batman's facial expressions with that cowl covering most of his face. He never seemed to change the way he held his mouth. It wasn't a mouth built for smiles, after all. It was all grimness and firm hard lines. Stubborn. Dark. The only time it ever changed was a certain tensing of the muscles in times of anger or stress.

The face tightened now. That was Eddie's warning to go limp.

"_Why_?"

He didn't fight back as his feet lost contact with the ground, conscious of the vast, dizzying emptiness behind and below him. He felt…broken, like a toy being shaken by a child frustrated that the doll wouldn't say "Mama." And he was too tired now to deal with panic at the thought of cracked porcelain. So he just hung there, a rag doll indifferent to rough treatment.

"Why?" Batman repeated. Another shake snapped his head back. He was surprised to see the stars through a break in the clouds.

Slowly, he lowered his gaze back to the Gotham Bridge and Batman.

"Why do you _want_ them? What have they done?" The Dark Knight glowered, and Eddie felt a renewed spark of anger. "They robbed Bruce Wayne. So what? It's not like no one's ever robbed him before." He smirked. "And they didn't learn any deep, dark secrets, if that's what you're worried about."

"I. Am. Not. _Worried_."

"Says the man who dragged me out of the _shower_ for this little wild goose chase?" Unexpectedly, he started to laugh, which coincided with a bout of shivering so violent it was undoubtedly not appropriate for younger viewers. It was PG-13 at least.

That set him off giggling more, as a part of him struggled to remember just what effects hypothermia had on the brain.

"Answer the question, Nygma. You can't keep this up forever."

"Question, Batman: How do you expect to play good cop/bad cop when there's only one of you?"

"_Nygma_." Two syllables, all threat. He felt his bravado start to crumble. "Why bother to protect them?"

"Because they'd do the same for me! Can't you understand that? They're my _friends_, and if you were pulling this on them to get information about me, they would let you drop them before they said a word. _They. Are. My. Friends_. Now, if you just wanted Jonathan, I'd be happy to oblige, and _no one_ would find fault with a man breaking under the Bat's interrogation, you understand? But you want the girls, and I'm not going to oblige, so just do what you're going to do and get it over with!"

Batman stared at him, eyes narrowed. Then the corner of his mouth twitched in what could have been a smirk.

"Jonathan?" Eddie just sighed. A slip of the tongue; he wasn't going to dwell on it, although Batman certainly would.

"We all have names, you know."

"Fine." He turned away from the vast empty space and dumped Eddie in a snowdrift. "You had your chance. Things would have been easier for everyone if you had just spoken up."

Eddie drew his knees up to his chest, trying to keep his feet from touching the snow.

"What are you going to do to them?" Batman said nothing. "They're decent people, you know. They protect the Scarecrow because they care about him. It's not for the money. They're…not normal, but they're not so broken, yet. They still know how to love." Oh, that sounded so trite. Was he really preaching a cartoonish moral of the story? Still, it was true. They loved, and it made a difference.

"Touching," Batman growled. Eddie sighed. There wasn't anything more to say, was there? For a so-called hero, Batman wasn't exactly full of compassion. He was going to find Jonathan and the girls, and whatever came next, he would show no mercy.

"Electric fan," Eddie muttered. That gave Batman a moment's hesitation until he made the connection to _I wave but never say goodbye_.

_…It's cooler, though, when I say HI!_ Oh, that had been a grand scheme, teaming with the Mad Hatter to mind control the spectators at Gotham Stadium at halftime on Superbowl Sunday. That had been a good day, back when every crime had been fun and partnerships had still seemed like a good idea, though what they had planned to do with their army of sweaty, color-coded drones, he could no longer remember.

Eddie's gaze drifted over to that familiar monstrosity of a nightclub down the street. Jervis might be there, nursing a Derby, shredding the lemon peel garnish, and staring at the little blonde hostess he could never work up the nerve to talk to. He might be good for a ride home. If not, he should have a 50/50 chance with Harv, or he could try reminding Ivy how much he loved green. Then again, that might not be such a good idea. Last time he had asked her for a favor, he had woken up a week later in St. Vincent de Paul Hospital in Metropolis, wondering why the doctors were so concerned about Kryptonite, and whose colon they were planning to remove it from.

If he wanted to go so deep into debt he could never dig himself out, he could even ask Oswald for help.

And he'd only be the laughingstock of the underworld for the next decade or so.

"Batman!" The word slipped out before he could stop it. "You're just going to leave me here? Where's your heroic pride?"

"I think you must have me confused with Superman."

Scowling, Eddie wrapped his arms around his bare feet, wondering if it wouldn't be better just to let them go numb. There was a creak from the Batmobile, a swish of the cape, the crunch-crunch of boots on snow—all of which he steadfastly ignored until something dark and heavy landed in the snow in front of him. He picked it up and shook it out.

"You've got to be kidding."

Of course Batman _would_ be prepared for cold weather by keeping a Bat-parka in his car. And of course it had that ridiculous bright yellow emblem plastered on the back, impossible to miss.

"Take it. You have a long walk ahead of you."

There would have to be a special level of hell reserved for smart-ass vigilantes. But since survival instinct was generally stronger than pride, Eddie shrugged his way into the jacket without stopping to spit out any of the multitude of reasons why he shouldn't.

"I'm n-not going to forget this, you know." He managed to keep himself from shivering by tensing every muscle in his body, but try as he might, his teeth would not stop chattering. Eddie refused to see any amusement behind Batman's mask.

"Have a good night, Riddler."

"Up yours, rodent." He slumped over, weighing his options as the Batmobile rumbled away. No way was he going to make it home in this weather.

And there was _also_ no way he was going into the Iceberg looking like a discard from Batman's toybox. He could try it, but even if he snuck in the back way, there was no guarantee that he would make it out alive. Not with hardly a mark on him, and not displaying the bat emblem so brazenly. They would all assume the worst.

That left option number three: Javalanche. The all-night coffee shop across the street from the nightclub didn't qualify as rogue territory, but it was a recognizable landmark, and it was sure to have a phone. Quiz and Query could come and get him, if they weren't still tied up in bed. And if not…he could try the girls. The whole point of this night of defiance had been to keep Batman _away_ from them, and he had to assume the Dark Knight was still watching to see where he would go, but…that was something he could deal with later.

The bell on the coffee shop door merrily announced his presence to the lone employee, a bored-looking teenager who didn't even bother to glance up from his calculus book. Eddie stood there, dripping on the dirty linoleum. The boy still didn't look up. Eddie cleared his throat loudly.

"You ready to order?"

"No, I want to use your phone." The kid's pencil stopped moving, and he finally looked up.

"Sorry, customers only."

Snotty little bastard. Fine.

"Why don't you make me some coffee, then?" he asked, as if speaking to a particularly slow child. He reached into his pocket…

Uh-oh. No cash. He checked his other pockets. Nothing. He started shivering again. A nice hot cup of coffee would have been just about perfect.

Reluctantly, he checked the jacket. There was a dollar.

A _dollar_. Batman was just taunting him, wasn't he?

The kid went back to doing his homework. Eddie waved the dollar at him.

"Hello? Shot of espresso? Raspberry flavoring? Cup of hot water? Work with me." Without looking up, the boy pointed to a sign above the door.

"No shirt, no shoes, no service. _Sir_."

"Are you joking?"

"Store policy."

"Do you have _any_ idea who I am?"

"Nope." He turned the page. Eddie lunged across the counter and dragged the kid toward him by his shirt collar.

"Listen, you little punk, this is _not_ a good time to—good _grief_, I'm acting like Batman."

Well, maybe not quite like Batman. Batman would have known what to do about a teenager's forehead slamming into the top of his skull. _Batman_ wouldn't have ended up lying on the floor with his ears ringing, the imprint of a math book on the side of his face.

"Get out of here, you psycho!"

"Does everyone get this treatment, or am I the lucky one millionth customer?" The kid raised his book again threateningly. Eddie made a mental note to come back later with a pair of henchgirls and a gun.


	3. Chapter 3

Since there was obviously no way to avoid the humiliation Batman wanted to put him through, Eddie did what he could to minimize the damage. Skirting past the front door, he hammered on the service entrance instead, where he wouldn't have to deal with anyone but whatever lowly employee was assigned to sit there and accept deliveries.

He just hoped there _was_ someone assigned to that particular duty. When the Iceberg was shorthanded, the behind the scenes jobs were the first to go.

But this time, some measure of luck was with him. After less than thirty seconds of hopping from foot to foot and pounding on the door, the steel monstrosity slid upward and he found himself face to face with a musclebound goon—a familiar one, one of the few who had spent time with the Joker and lived through it.

Without thinking, Eddie greeted the man by the name the Joker had given him.

"Judy!"

By the look on the thug's face, Eddie had to assume he'd just made a horrible mistake. He tried not to gulp too loudly, but to his relief, Judy didn't immediately start pounding his face against the wall.

"Something I can help you with?"

"Um…" His mind went blank. "Is the Mad Hatter here tonight?" Judy—what _was_ his name?—just glared at him suspiciously. "You…you don't know who I am, do you?"

"Should I?"

"I'm…what, do I look like a cop to you?" He remembered just in time not to move his hands away from his chest. This would not be the opportune moment to reveal the bat symbol. "Just let me in, will you? Check with Oswald if it makes you feel better. It had been years since he'd had to account for himself like this to some know-nothing goon who didn't recognize him. Could this night possibly get any worse?

"All right, come on in. I'm calling the boss."

"Good." He stepped over the threshold and stumbled. Damn it. Was there _really_ any good reason why he couldn't have put on a pair of socks?

Judy put out a hand to steady him. The scrunched-up bat symbol fell away from the shield of his hands.

Judy's grip tightened on his arm. Eddie smiled faintly.

"I can explain that."

If his nose hadn't been broken before, there was no doubt that it was after its introduction to Judy's fist.

--

Waking up in pain to the sound of soft female voices seemed to have become the default setting after any major shock, injury, or other loss of consciousness. He had sort of hoped that would stop after the girls stopped being dead…

Someone leaned over him, a bushy-haired silhouette against the overhead light, touching a warm, wet cloth to his face to clean away the dried blood. He blinked.

"Techie?"

She slapped him lightly.

"Idiot!"

Oh. Query. Okay.

"What happened?" he mumbled.

"Hatter called us when he saw Jonesy dragging your carcass into Ozzie's office. Why didn't you just tell him who you were? You could have saved yourself a broken nose."

"No, it was already broken."

"The concussion, then, retard!" She slapped him again with the damp rag.

"Hey!" Quiz protested. "If you're going to beat him silly, wait until we get him home. _I'm_ not going to be the one to carry him all the way out to the car."

"We could just leave him here," Query smirked. Quiz threw herself down on the couch near his head, laughing.

"She's just kidding, Riddles. Pengy wouldn't let us do that. We already asked. 'This is not a hotel, my delectable duo of deviants. _Although_…'" She quacked lecherously, something he had never heard anyone but the Penguin himself actually pull off.

"You don't really want to leave me here, do you, ladies? After all, without me, how are you going to get back at Batman for knocking you out and tying you up?" _And for not sticking around after he got you into that position?_ Quiz tapped him lightly between the eyes. Eddie flinched as pain blossomed through his skull.

"Yeah, I think we could handle this without you."

"Just get up." Query snatched off the blanket—well, he had _assumed_ that was a blanket covering his legs; now that he looked at it, it bore a striking resemblance to the yellow cape that used to hang over the mantle. That was almost touching. Oswald _never_ took that thing down.

"Here, put these on." Quiz dropped a pair of moth-eaten wool socks on his face. He held them up to the light.

"Did you get these from…"

"Killer Moth," she confirmed. "He's still in one piece, but his face is real red. One atomic wedgie, and he gave them right up." Eddie groaned.

"You didn't do that in front of everyone, did you?"

"Hey, it got them to stop laughing at _you_."

Touché. And as long as Walker wasn't still hanging by his waistband from the chandelier, he didn't need to feel guilty, did he?

Once again, his girls had come through for him. Sometimes it was nice to have help.

He hoped Jonathan appreciated _his_.


End file.
